


Nocturnes and Preludes (Or Regret in B Minor)

by MalachiWalker



Series: Rhythm & Blues (C'mon, Darlin', Make Some Noise) [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: "Mal is this au an excuse to imagine Catradora singing your favorite songs?", Also Micah is her therapist, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, But she's still CATRA, Catra and the other hybrids are still furries, Catra has access to therapy, F/F, One unforgivable pun, Other Horde kids mentioned, Rated T for Catra's (my) bad language, Speculation on Magicat culture, Yes., because i make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalachiWalker/pseuds/MalachiWalker
Summary: Fresh off a six month tour with her band, up-and-coming rock star Catra Leandros wakes up from yet another nightmare in a lifetime full of them and tries to at least make some music out of the lemons her psyche keeps throwing at her. But the phantoms of a life she never lived, a mistake she never made, and the ghost of the girl she walked away from ten years earlier are set on making thatextradifficult. At least her crew (and their cat) have her back.Or the Catradora rock star au that no one asked for.





	Nocturnes and Preludes (Or Regret in B Minor)

**Author's Note:**

> This... Kinda came out of nowhere. I mean, I had a general plan and outline for the rock star au in my head, but I was much farther along with my planned pre-s4 Catradora redemption au fic than the silly, light hearted story I specifically created to take the edge off the angst. I guess I hecked up. But be on the lookout for that anyway. ;)
> 
> Just some quick stuff to know before getting started: Catra's band is an indie hard rock band called No Plan B, with Lonnie as the official leader, keyboardist and occasional death growl vocalist, Scorpia on the drums, Rogelio on bass, and Catra as the lead singer/lead guitarist, with Kyle as their roadie and Rogelio's bf. They're all in their late 20s now, and due to reasons that will be elaborated on in later fics, they've only just really hit the big time after six years of work. Meanwhile, Adora, Glimmer and Bow are a pop group called BFS that got signed to Bright Moon Records (run by Angella, natch) almost straight out of college and are very well known. Bright Moon is basically New York, and the other countries have real world counterparts as well. Also, Catra's last name is Leandros mostly for the lion allusions and because I couldn't find a good last name with panther connotations.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

_'You made your choice! Now live with it!'_

  
Soaked in sweat and still reeling from the punch that shattered the world, Catra Leandros jerked awake in her Bright Moon flat, shaking and alone. The half-moon cast the room in blues and shadows as it peeked in through the glass doors that comprised a large portion of the one room flat's south wall. The realtor had assured her that the glass was sturdy and the style all the rage; Catra had merely thought at the time that it was just an excuse to drive the rental price even higher.

  
Now, sitting in a pool of her own sweat, black silk sheets plastered to her body in an uncomfortable embrace, Catra wanted to bless whatever jackass decided massive transparent doors were the latest and greatest way to show off wealth. Because even though her people were blessed with night-sight, being able to tell in a glance that she was alone did wonders for the rat-a-tat pounding of her heart.

  
Kicking the sheet away and swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, she planted her feet on the carpet and began to breathe slowly. In and out, just like her therapist Micah had taught her; four in, seven hold, eight out. Slowly, the fight-or-flight panic began to leech out of her system, leaving her shaken but no longer ready to jump out of her own skin.

  
Another night terror. Great.

  
It wasn't like Catra was a stranger to this exact situation. In fact, her and the Old Hag were practically lifelong friends at this point: the nightmares had started hard and fast when she was five years old after her parents' deaths and even now, twenty-three years and over half a decade of extensive therapy down the line, nobody had figured out how to make them stop. By now, Catra had more or less accepted that the dreams were just another part of her life, like the scars on her left hand that nearly wrecked her career, or the notch in her ear she’d gotten in a bar fight she’d been way too young to be in.

  
Didn't mean it made it any easier to see Adora--good-hearted, stupidly naive, good natured _Adora--_glaring daggers at her as she wound up and socked Catra's lights out. _Definitely_ didn't help that the dreams of the last decade made it perfectly clear that Catra--or at least dream Catra--had fully earned that disdain.

  
_'Catra, while it is unusual for dreams to follow such a consistent narrative structure as yours, the life you see in your dreams is not your own. You are not living out your dream. You can learn from it if it helps you, but letting it drive you through fear is a maladaptive response. You need to push through this.'_

  
Another Micah-ism. Now that she and the rest of the band were back in Bright Moon after six months of touring, she'd need to schedule an appointment. Regular phone calls on the road were all well and good, but no substitute for an actual sit down.

  
No Plan B would be closing out their tour next week at the smaller of Bright Moon's two arenas (not that the size of the place mattered, not when she and her crew had spent seven long years fighting their way to the top and had severed the brakes long ago.) Once that was done, they planned to take a well-deserved two month rest before getting back in the studio for their third album, and Catra could focus on getting her emotional shit together.

  
Until then, she'd deal with her problems the way she always had.

  
After running a shaky claw through her sweat-stained locks, she turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed the notepad and pen she kept there for just this reason. After flipping to a new page of blank sheet music, she set it aside with the pen on top and reached for her guitar.

  
Anybody who knew her would say her electric guitar was her pride and joy; sleek lines of red and black (or what she'd been told was red, just looked grey to her) with an extra wide fret board to accommodate her claws and a sound that alternated between the hum of angels and the shrieks of demons. And it _was_ true that finally getting to purchase a Les Paw of her very own had been one of the proudest moments of her entire life, after years and years of severed strings and bleeding fingers from guitars that had never been made for Magicat hands. To finally own a guitar from _THE_ Magicat brand had been a dream come true.

  
But as much as she loved that guitar, it was the one that sat on the stand beside her bed that truly owned Catra's heart. A simple acoustic, a little beat up and worn, but every nick and scratch told a story. It looked like any guitar that you could pick up in any store in the world, but the scars lent it character.

  
The only thing that would tip people off that there was something special about this guitar was the bridge, which obviously wasn't the original, as hinted at by the faded outline of where the original bridge piece had rested creeping beyond its edges. And unlike the classic black plastic or wooden bridge that commonly adorned acoustics, this one was made of ivory white bone, the edges worn smooth from years of rubbing against the inside of Catra's leather jacket or the bottom of her rucksack.

  
Her left hand _ached._

  
"Enough," Catra whispered to herself, even as a hard echo of _'Live with it'_ rattled against her brain like candy in the world's shittiest gumball machine. She needed to get out of her head.

Adora wasn't here. Catra hadn't burned the world to spite her, hadn't tried to lock her down between Catra's emotional gravity and her dreams. In _this_ life (if that's what the dreams even were) when Catra had been given the option to tear it all apart, she'd done what the other her in her nightmares should have done from the start.

  
She let Adora go.

  
_Then why does it hurt so _much?

  
"Let it all out," She murmured comfortingly to herself, the same way she barely remembered her mother doing whenever she got upset as a kit, while her fingers plucked experimentally at the strings, letting the music come as it would. The music would take shape in its own time, as it always did.

  
She found her rhythm, and picked up her pen in her left hand (what she had once called her "good hand," though the words made her cringe now.)

  
As Catra jotted notes across the page and mouthed lyrics to herself, testing the feel, her mind wandered to the rest of her band mates and how they might be doing—though a quick glance at the clock told her that trying to find out would be a bad idea. Texting the group chat at 2:37 AM was generally frowned upon in polite society.

  
Not that Catra gave a flying fuck what polite society thought of her—she wouldn't be a rock star if she did. But she _did_ give a shit about her crew, and just because she was sleepless and miserable in her apartment didn't mean she had to pass it along to them like the world's worst game of hot potato.

  
There had been a time in her life when thoughts like that wouldn't even have occurred to her. But then again, a good chunk of that life she wouldn't have _needed_ to, because the instant that the thrashing stopped Adora would already be tugging her into a half-conscious embrace in the safety of their shared bed, humming softly while her fingernails scratched at the base of Catra's ears, until her tail stopped sweeping back and forth and her reluctant purrs sang counterpoint to Adora's heartbeat.

  
_'Live with it.'_

  
"Fuck me blind, isn't that what I've been doing all this time?" Catra snarled in frustration as she set the guitar against the other pillow and retracted her claws so she could massage circles into her temples. Getting out of her head was clearly going to be a lot harder than usual tonight.

  
It was probably the fact that BFS had put out a new single that was all the rage on the pop charts. The one, immutable rule that No Plan B had agreed on when they started out was this: whoever drove the tour bus got to pick the music. No complaints, and no whining unless you were willing to take the wheel yourself. And Scorpia, bless her heart, liked pop music a bit more than most people would expect from the drummer in a hard rock band.

  
Of course, given Scorpia's nature, most people were ultimately more surprised that she was in a rock band to begin with.

  
But the point still stood, and that meant that for the past month Catra had regularly been greeted with the voice of her ex-best _everything_ radiating out from the speakers at least once every hour.

  
_'I'm here in search of your glory/There's been a million before me/That ultra-kind of love you never walk away from/You're just the last of the real ones.'_

  
Adora had no idea how much Catra's lungs ached to cry out, "I'm here! I'm here! I've been singing for you this whole time," how much her hands _yearned_ to pull silverspun cords from her wailing guitar and show the whole damn world how much her heart still burned for that girl with her golden heart and steel-cord spine.

  
But Catra had walked away, at least in this life. And she had to live with that, no matter how much hearing that voice on the radio made her shake.

  
At least Lonnie and Rogelio had been sympathetic to her plight, the former usually shooting her a "Sorry" look across the tour bus and tossing her a pair of headphones and the latter stoically keeping the radio tuned to either classic rock or jazz standards whenever it was his turn to drive. And Catra _got_ it, really. Trying to stay angry at Scorpia was like trying to stay angry at a particularly huge, lovable puppy with claws, and while she knew from band discussions that Catra had a Complicated™ history with Adora... She wouldn't really understand _why_ hearing that song felt like a knife lodging between Catra’s ribs every time it came on. Throw in the fact that Lonnie and Scorpia had been dating for like two years on top of all that, and Catra had absolutely no desire to rock that particular boat. So she sucked it up and dealt with it.

  
At least she could usually count on Kyle to take over the drive after Scorpia. While his own time in therapy had greatly assisted in calming his anxiety disorder (and spending most of both his work and home life side by side with Rogelio helped steady him even more) he was still fairly sensitive to discomfort, both in himself and others. Catra had lost count of how many times she'd bought him a Sprite or candy bar in the past month as a silent "Thank you" for his efforts.

  
But that still left her with a problem. How were you supposed to put to rest a ghost that you never truly let die?

  
Her phone chirped a notification on the bedside table, momentarily jolting Catra out of her thoughts.

  
_Speak of the devil,_ she thought as she thumbed the lock screen open to see a new picture in the group chat. Scorpia, looking fantastic in a swanky black dress, stood with a brawny arm wrapped around each of her mothers, all three of them smiling exuberantly at the camera. Behind them, she could see the sign of the world famous Solace Opera House.

  
_Nice,_ was all that came to mind as she thumbed down to pull up the keyboard, wishing that touch screen technology had progressed far enough to recognize that not everyone on the planet had fleshy, clawless fingers.

  
_Catra 3:16 am_  
Having fun with your moms, I take it?

  
_Scorps 3:19_  
Yes, as a matter of fact! And /Wildcat/! What are you doing up? It's like three am over there!

  
_Catra 3:20_  
3:20 if you wanna get specific. And do you really wanna ask that question after you were texting the group chat at asshole o'clock in the morning?

  
_Scorps 3:22_  
First of all, it's not three am where I am. Secondly, I just put it in the group chat so you guys could see it when you woke up naturally.

  
_Scorps 3:23_  
And thirdly, I know how low you set your ringtone. If you weren't already awake, we wouldn't be talking.

  
Damn. She had Catra there. It was hard keeping secrets from someone who had just spent six months with you in what was--although admittedly pretty nice--still a glorified mobile tin can.

  
_Catra 3:25_  
Ok yeah, I'm not even gonna try to weasel out of this one. I was already awake.

  
_Scorps 3:26_  
The nightmares again? :(

  
_Catra 3:28_  
Yeah, but it's not SO bad. Just doing my usual "channel it into music" thing.

  
_Scorps 3:28_  
Is Star there with you?

  
Catra's lips quirked in an involuntary smile at the mention of the group's unofficial mascot/shared son, a white furred, blue eyed cat Scorpia had found beside a motel dumpster outside Flagstaff, Arizona a year and a half earlier. She'd spent nearly thirty minutes trying to coax him into approaching her until Catra had _finally_ come looking for her and quickly pinpointed the problem: like a lot of cats with that combination of genes, he was completely deaf.

  
Once they realized that, the pair had managed to get the juvenile feline to cuddle up to them most ricky-tick, and when Lonnie came looking for them the combination of her girlfriend's puppy dog eyes and Catra's utter refusal to help her be the adult had resulted in the situation they had today, where Star spent part of the year as their "roadcat" and the rest of the year hopping between the band members' individual homes on a weekly basis.

  
_Catra 3:29_  
No, the boyson is not with me. I let Lonnie have him this week. Figured she'd want the company with her gf halfway around the world, even if she's too stubborn to admit it. ;P

  
_Scorps 3:31_  
Awww, that's really sweet of you. I'll be home soon!

  
_Scorps 3:32_  
But I am kinda sorry he isn't there. I know how much he helps with the nightmares.

  
_Catra 3:32_  
Yeah...

  
Like she'd mentioned before, it was pretty hard to keep secrets from the people that shared a sardine can with you, so every member of No Plan B (plus Kyle) had had multiple experiences with Catra's night terrors. She was pretty sure they even had a rotating schedule between the four of them to decide who checked on her, though obviously none of them would confirm that suspicion for fear of making Catra uncomfortable. At least, not any more so than her fucked up psyche _already_ made her.

  
Star's presence on the tour bus didn't make the nightmares any less frequent, but the group _had_ discovered—to their collective relief—that it was a lot easier for Catra to calm down afterward when there was a ten pound ball of fluff and unconditional affection purring away on her chest.

  
_Catra 3:33_  
Look, it's fine. Lonnie needed him tonight and I've got my acoustic and pen and paper. Once we finish out the tour next Friday I'll schedule an appointment with Micah.

  
_Scorps 3:35_  
Tell you what. Schedule the appointment at whatever ungodly hour you wake up this afternoon /after/ you finally pass out, and I won't give you any more grief.

  
_Catra 3:36_  
… What happens if I refuse?

  
_Scorps 3:37_  
I call my girlfriend. Right now. :)

  
Fuck.

  
_ Catra 3:37_  
Ok, ok, I promise. Now will you PLEASE go have fun with your moms? You're at the fucking Solace Opera House, for fuck's sake.

  
_Scorps 3:39_  
That's what the orchestra’s warm-up period is for, Wildcat. But I'll talk to you tomorrow!

  
_Scorps 3:40_  
Also, my moms said "Hi."

  
_Catra 3:40_  
Lates.

  
Amazing what a mere twenty four minutes could do, both in terms of lifting her mood and tiring her out. Returning her phone to its charger, Catra glanced between the old guitar and the half-finished notes on her lap.

  
Part of her just wanted to give in to sleep, call it a night. The other part of her... Well, it _was_ a simple fact that a lot of her best songs were born in these solitary writing sessions, and she was off to a pretty good start...

  
_'This is all your fault!'_ Her dream self, voice distorted by corruption and rage, still rang in her ears.

  
And then the simple, quiet answer that had shaken down her entire world for ten long years._ 'You made your choice. Now live with it.'_

  
She was still working when the sun came up.

_I roam these halls, search the night_   
_ In hopes that I may see_   
_ A remnant trace, a glimpse of you_   
_ I stare into the deep_   
_ Singing, "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know_   
_ I know my love can be..."_   
_ The deep stares back, speaks to me,_   
_ I know my love can be_   
_ The killing kind._

**Author's Note:**

> I want you all to know I'm sorry for the Les Paw guitar pun. And that I wish I could promise there won't be more terrible puns in the future. Have mercy on my soul.
> 
> Adora's song is "Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy. The song Catra works on post-nightmare is "The Killing Kind" by Marianas Trench off their album, Phantoms, which I highly recommend checking out because it is a HUGE post s3 mood. 
> 
> Anyway, this is just supposed to be a prelude to set the stage for the au proper... a prelude that got away from me for four hours. Can't tell you when the next chapter will be here, but I can say that next time we'll be seeing what Adora and the Best Friends Squad have been up to and getting a bigger glimpse into this world, where things have changed and where they've stayed the same.* And we'll get to see Catra and crew being actual rock stars. Hope you'll join me for that, and please leave a review or kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> *Hint: Shadow Weaver's still an A+ parent.


End file.
